And she, her beauty never made her cold, Young-Oread-like beside the green hill crest And blissfully obeying Love's behest, She turned to him as to a god of old, Her smitten soul with its full strength and spring Retaliating his love: unto that breast, Ere scarce the arms dared open to infold, She gave herself as but a little thing. And now, to impulse cold, to passion dead, With the wild grief of unperfected years, He kissed her hands, her mouth, her hair, her head, Gathered her close and closer to drink up The odour of her beauty, then in tears As for a world, gave from his lips the cup. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COWPER'S GRAVE by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES by ROBERT BURNS THE SOUND OF THE TREES by ROBERT FROST THE WINDHOVER: TO CHRIST OUR LORD by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS DIRGE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH BARCAROLE: DE VIGNY by E. G. B. |